"Ah, but it makes a great deal of difference, you see. It is the difference between the unknown and the unknowable, between science and fantasy– it is a matter of essence. The four points of the compass be logic, knowledge, wisdom, and the unknown. Some do bow in that final direction. Others advance upon it."
Roger Zelazny, Lord of Light

Creative Writing Wednesday: “The Epic Legend of Damien Fell”, Part 8

I stare into the mirror at my tangled hair and my staring eyes and I look back at myself and all I can think is, How did I get to be this person?

And every night, I lie awake, fearing to close my eyes, fearing to even blink– because I know that if I do, if I fall asleep, the dreams will come, and I’ll see it again: the gas mask, impassive and staring, gazing down at me with cold eyes, with no emotion, just a blank, staring mask, like a knife directly into my soul, forever…

There’s a place in my head that I dare not go, for I know that if I do, I’ll hear nothing but the echoing screams, the screams inside my skull, the screams of fear.

I am a haunted man.

I am a hunted man.

I don’t know what I’m going to do.

I am being consumed.

~ Ian

The Epic Legend of Damien Fell

Chapter 8: The Tale of Light and Shadow

The three compainions— Damien Fell, Amberlae, and Sharia– sat around a campfire int he middle of the barren northern waists, five hundred miles away from Shadouwegaard. It was cold, and the sound of the Targathian Bloodhawkes screeching and skirling loudly across the moorlands was like the sound of death and destruction echoing across the wilderness.

Amberlae was afraid, of course. She huddled close to Damion Fell, who had one strong muscular arm wrapped close around her shoulders, and held her close to him. She felt comforted by his nearness. The warmth and the smell of his body was soothing, and she wanted to sink into his arms and lie there forever. She had accepted her position as his lover, and knew that she wanted nothing more than to be by his side until the day she died.

“So, can you tell me what exactly happened back there?” asked Shaira, who sat polishing her chain with a dispassoinate expression on her cold and beautiful face.

“It is a long story,” said Damien Fell. “But I believe that you know what’s going on, don’t you, my love?” And he stroked Amberlae’s red-gold hair with his warm, leathery hand.

“I…. I believe I do……” said Amberlae. “Deep within me. I know.”

And she took a deep breath, and began to speak.

“Every child that grows up in Evershyria knows about the eternal conflict between Lyghte and Darkness. And they also know that there is Shadouwe between then, the darkness that is created by Lyghte, the neutral party in the cosmic conflict that defines the universe.” She picked up a stick and started drawing in the dirt, a drawing that showed what looked like a sandwich, with two slices of bread and a piece of meat in the center.

“There are three plains of existance,” said the Princess. She gestured to the meat in the cosmic sandwich, and said, “There is Evershyria, which as we all know id the mortal realm, the realm that is the home of the living. Evershyria is the plane where mortals dwell, and it is also the battlefield between Lyghte and Darkness that is the defining conflict of the universe.”

Amberlae then pointed at the two pieces of bread that made up the outer layers of the multiverse. “But the mortal plane is transient, and when the inhabitants of Evershyria die, then they go to either Heaven or Hell, depending on whether they have been followers of the Lyghte or the Darkness. And, as we all know, these planes are eternal. They do not fluctuate in the way that the mortal realm does. They are the homes of the immortals, the angels and demons and gods that define the universe. And then outside this all, there is Chaos: the seething vaccume where nothing but darkness and fire rains. These are the realms of unspeakable horror. Chaos is the plane that is not a plane, the realm of madness that exists outside of the multiverse.”

“I’m well aware of all this,” said Shaira gruffly. “But what does this have to do with any of what happened back in Shadouwegaard?”

“It’s simple,” said Damien Fell. “It is known that there is a ciclical pattern to existence, and these cycles are based around two eternally reincarnated cosmic souls: the Maiden of Lyghte, and the Warrior of Darkness. These two beings are two halves of the same soul. They are like the two faces of a coin. And those are the beings that Amberlae and I are.”

“You’re saying that you’re some kind of powerful uber-souls?” said Shaira, laughing. “I’ll believe it when I see it!”

“But you have seen it, SHaira,” said Amberlae softly. “You saw it back in Shadouwegaard. For as you know, Damien Fell died back there. And I brought him back to life with a kiss. Because, you see, I am life itself, just as Damien Fell is Death Incarnate. And you know that life cannot exist without death, you see?”

“Of course,” said Shaira. “Im’ an assassin, don’t you think that I’d know that death and life are really just the same thing?”

“So it is with me and Amberlae,” said DamienFell. We are cosmic beings. One a mortal, one immortal. One of Lyghte, one of Darkness. We have lived millions of lives in the past, and we will live millions of lives in the future. We are the fulcrum on which the cosmic lever lifts.”

“This all seems very strange,” said Shaira. “But what does this have to do with anything?”

“It is prophesized,” said Amberlae, “that as each cycle of existence comes to an end, the Maiden of Lyghte and the Warrior of Darkness will come together as one at the Womb of Shadow and Light, and join together as one flesh. Then will the Maiden of Lyghte’s belly swell,a nd she will give birth to a child. A beautiful child, a powerful child: half mortal, half immortal.”

“That’s nothing special,” said Shaira. “There are cambions and heaventouched all over Everyshria. “

“Ah, but you see, I am not a demon<“ said Damien Fell. “Nor am I an angel. I am half-demon and half-angel. I am myself a fusion of Lyghte and Darkness. And that is what makes me special. That is what will make our child special. For within her, will be contained a conflux of Lyghte and Darkness and mortality. She will be an incarnation of Shadouwe, and because of this she will bring an end to the universe, and remake it anew.”

“And end to existence????” said Shaira. “That’s horrible! Why would this happen?”

“It must happen,” said Amberlae. “As you know, life is about balance. My child—- our child——— will bring balance to the multiverse”

“And she will make it again,” said Damien Fell. “She will bring destruction, but also creation. She will bring death, but also life. She will be the wheel that existance turns around. Her children will be the gods of the new world that will be forged out of the embers of the last.”

Shaira paused, stairing into the flames of the campfire. “And will this world be better than the last?”

“I hope so,” said Amberlae. “Whatever it will b e like, our child will bring it. But I will never live to see it. And neither will you. And neither will Damien.”

There was a long and silent pause. Finally, Sharia said, “I don’t understand this fully, Damien Fell. But you did me a favor back at the Fiendfang, by saving me from that lord Hateshadowe. I will follow you, wherever you want to go. I will escort you to the Womb of Light and Shadow. I swear it on all gods living or dead. I swear it on the moon. I swear it on my life.”

“You are an honorable woman,” said Damien Fell.

“Of course I am,” said Shaira. “I’m an assassin. Don’t you know that we’re the last honorable people in the multiverse?”

******************************************************

As the companions prepared to bed down for the night, Amberlae snuggled close to Damien Fell underneath their bedroll, which they shared now, having become lovers.

“I meant it when I said it,” she whispered. “I’ve never had sex before, and I’m still a virgin. But I want you to be inside me, and I want to feel my belly grow heavy with our child. I want to make love to you, Damien. And I wanted to from the firt moment i saw you.”

“You know why that cannot be,” said Damien Fell.

“I know it,” she said dismissively. “But I still want you. Now. I want to feel your rough shaft penetrating into my softest place. I want to make love to you until we both scream. I want your babies. I want your sex. I want you to be mine.”

“I know what you want,” said Damien Fell, “and you cannot have it. Not yet.”

Amberlae kissed the nape of Damien’s neck, and nuzzled his cheek with her soft perky nose. “I know that. And I will wait. But I must reward you in some way for saving me back at that inn.”

And her small, nimble fingers quested down to his pants, and she unzipped them, placing her fingers around his already erect penis.

Amberlae whispered, “I have heard that certain courtisannes of Karass Mor perform this action. My betrothed, Travyss of Rayvenhawke, was a frequent patron of brothels, and he would tell me about the acts of love that they would perform on their clients. I will do the same now for you, my love.” And she disappeared under the blankets.

“What are you……..” Damien Fell murmured, and then he knew. “Oh. ……oh.”

They lay there for hours, as Amberlae pleasured Damien Fell with her mouth and hands and lips and tounge, sucking and licking at his erect member until she brought him to his full, and she swallowed his seed eagerly. And when she finished, it was his turn to dissapear under the blankets, and use his mouth and hands and lips and tongue, until Amberlae was brought to an earth-shattering orgasm by his skill— the first that she’d ever enjoyed—– and they finished, and lay there under the stars, holding each other, listening the the heartbeat of the earth untill they drifted off to sleep.

A cold wind blew out of the North, and upon it was the scent of blood and hatred.

It passed over field and forest, over city and widlerness. It swept across the world, and upon its black breath was the agonized screaming of a dead soul consumed by anger primordial. As the wind passed over the lands of Evershyria, those who stood by, watching and wondering as the storm roared out of the North could hear a voice on the wind, a voice that cracked with malic, a voice that was tortured with pain and anger and death, a voice that was like the dead ice at the heart of every glacier, a voice that was Evil.

The wind sought a vessel, a person to be consumed with its evil, to reek its revenge. Soon it came across a lone rider coming to Shadowegaard, and it smiled, as it could sense fear and anger inside this soul, this man with his flowing golden hair and his magestic broadsword Rayventallon on his back. It was Travyss Hawke, the Prince of Rayvenhawke, whose nostrils were already filled with the scent of revenge.

Travyss Hawke reigned in his horse, patting it’s side as he dismounted. “I can smell her,” she said. “I can smell Amberlae.”

Travyss? came the voice of Amberlae from across the moors. I’m so cold and lonley. Won’t you come towards me? Won’t you warm me with the embrace of your massive arms? Won’t you comfort me with your manhood?

“I will my love!!!!” exclaimed Travyss. “I will!!!!!!!”

She appeared like a shimmering wraith out from the mist, her red-gold hair falling down her back, as naked as the day she was born. Travyss could feel himself stiffen as he saw her perfevt breasts, her long and perfectly hair less legs, and the delicate patch of soft fuzz that concealed her perfect vagina, the place where he wanted to sink into more than everything else, to gaze upon and feel, the place that no man had touched.

Travyss, Amberlae said. My love. and she came to him, and kissed him with her full pouty lips, and put her arms around him. He kissed back. She tasted like wild honey and rose water.

Then from out of the mist, came a warrior. Tall and dark, cloaked in shadow, his eyes burning with heatless flame. The warrior grabbed Amberlae, and renched her from Travyss’s grasp, pulling backwards until the warm bundle of naked softness was gone from where he held her.

Travyss! cried Amberlae. My love! HELP ME!!!!!!!!!

“AMBERLAAAAAAEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!” whaled Travyss, but it was too late. His princess had disappeared back into the mist, vanishing from where he beheld her into the shadows.

“NO!” ejaculated Travyss, and knelt down and wept. “NO! NO! NO!”

Then there was a sound like a whisper at Travyss’s ear, and this is what it said:

You want to find her, don’t you? You want to make her yours. You want to recsue her from the man who stole her from you.

There is nothing more I want,” said Travyss. “I want to claim her. I want to claim her as my own. I want my kingdom. I want my love.”

I can help you to get that, said the voice on the wind. I can make the man who stole her pay. And I need you to do one thing for me.

“Of course,” said Travyss. “I’d do anything to get my Amberlae back.”

Then let me enter you, whispred the voice. Let me feed on your life, in exchange for unimagineable power. Let me join with your soul. I have strength the likes of which you can only dream of. All you need to do is say the words, ‘I give you leave to enter me.”

“And this will get Amberlae back to me?” said Travyss.

Of course, said the voice. Would I lie?

“Of course not,” said Travyss. “Very well. If it gets my love back to me, I have no choice but to sumbit.”

Travyss took a deep breath, and intoned, “I give you leave to enter me.”

Immediately Travyss felt something peircing his soul, a stabbing feeling like ice entering every orifice of his body. He screamed, but no sound came out. It felt like liquid fire was flowing through every part of his body.

Soon, though, it was over. And Travyss felt stronger than ever before. Magic siffused every vein of his being.

“All right,” said Travyss. “Let’s go, then.”

He grinned. If anyone had been looking on, they would have known that Travyss’s eyes had suddenly become jet black, the color of the Chaos that seethes outside the universe. His teeth were sharp, and fanged. He was prepared to kill.

“What is your name, my new friend?”

The voice spoke, and said, Lord Hateshadowe.

“Awesome,” said Travyss. And spreading his toothed mouth wide, he spoke a word of power. “Worcmrots.”

Immediately twelve pitch-black ravens appeared, and he spoke to them. “Find Amberlae and her capter. Report back to me if you find them.”

The ravens flew off in a blast of black feathers. Travyss remounted his horse.